The Dark Of Ages Past
by DreamsBeyondTheBarricade
Summary: Enjolras's last thoughts as he meets death in the ABC Café. Drabble.


Enjolras felt the cold edge of the window on his back. He knew that it was all lost – his friends, his fellow revolutionaires, all dead and gone. Grantaire, drunk in desperation and misery, was standing next to him, drenched in sweat and with his legs trembling heavily. Enjolras thought his good friend would die anyway, whether did those bloody policemen shoot him or not. Grantaire was just too exhausted from all the previous days' fighting.

He looked around desperately in an attempt to find something he could hold on to. He saw chairs broken down to chips, half-broken tables, torn and ragged curtains...nothing alive in that ocean of misery. Soon, he thought, he would be one of those bleeding, dead corpses. Their revolution hadn't changed anything – they'd die in vain, cold, alone and empty in the inside.

No. Enjolras wouldn't die empty. His heart puffed at the pride of dying fighting for freedom, justice and honor, all those things he had been preaching over the last years. Idealist, with an only love named Patria in his head, Enjolras found his soon-to-happen death a quite honouring way to die – shot by the police, his dying breaths still preaching freedom and democracy.

His mind reeled back to the barricade, to those days he had spent surrounded by misery and yet thinking that they would be able to win the game. He now realized they were just a group of grown-up children who tried to be heroes.

Feeling the warm fabric he had tightly grasped when he had been cornered by the police, Enjolras closed his eyes and wondered what had happened to his other friends. He had seen Courfeyrac's convulsing body downstairs, but he hadn't seen Marius anywhere. He was dead, of that he was sure. But where? He couldn't help but worry about his friend. Surely the poor lovesick boy was somewhere in the ABC Café, mourning for his beloved and how he would not be able to see her again.

'Have you seen Marius, Grantaire?' he dared whisper to his friend from the corner of his mouth, his brown eyes still glaring at the soldiers standing in front of them.

'I saw that old man, Valjean,' breathed Grantaire shakily. 'Marius was wounded and Valjean was carrying him away.'

Enjolras felt how his heart sunk. Old Valjean wouldn't be able to make it far carrying a half-dead Marius, of that he was sure. He wondered if his friend had already bled to death, or if his wounds had gotten infected from all the mud and dirt in the barricade. He wondered if he had died along with Courfeyrac and the others, or if he was still alive and breathing. He hoped for the latter. As much as he disapproved of his sudden lovesick attitude, he knew his beloved would be completely broken if Marius died. Then again, Enjolras had never understood love – his only and dearest relationship was his commitment to Patria, democracy and justice.

He wondered why hadn't their revolution succeeded. Probably because they were just a group of rich young boys who tried to play heroes. But he knew it had been worth the while – the people now knew that somebody cared about their sufferings and that the government wouldn't last long. He thought of all the fallen: first Éponine, who had died with her beloved Marius singing her to death. Little Gavroche, her younger brother, who had died a hero being so young. All of the Amis from the ABC Café, who were now lying lifelessly in the ground floor. And lastly him and Grantaire, who were about to follow the rest of their fellow revolutionaires to whatever came after death.

'Dear Patria,' he whispered as the soldiers raised their rifles and pointed them at his chest. 'I've done everything I could.'

He felt a searing pain in his kidney, which had just been perforated with a bullet. He didn't have time to mourn, though – a second later, another seven bullets pierced his chest, making his now lifeless body fall backwards. Despite the little life that remained inside him, Enjolras did not let go of the flag as he fell backwards and outside the window – instead, he clutched it tighter moments before everything blackened out.

He was now dead, but at least he had died a hero.

_Tomorrow we'll discover what our God in Heaven has in store. One more day...one day more._

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**First story written here! Review, please?**

**Written by Juno on the 30th of December, 2012.**


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